If I Can't Have You
by Get Sherlocked
Summary: I often find myself in these situations where I get this feeling that I am lost, yet I know exactly where I am. That's how I feel whenever I'm with him. The stubborn, arrogant and wonderful King of Brooklyn. SpotXOC
1. Chapter 1

**Woohoo! Starting a new story! Has been a while since I wrote for this fandom, but I'm glad to be back! Here is a Spot/OC story just for you! I don't own Newsies, sadly, nor will I ever, so everything that you see, beside my main character (not telling you her name yet ;)) and the plot is not mine! Leave a review, please, it helps! Enjoy!**

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Call me crazy, call me stupid, but there was a time not too long ago that I found myself enamored with the idea of Spot Conlon. No, not in the way a girl fancies a boy, but in the way one person admires and respects another; he was smart, cunning and could fend for himself. I liked that about him. All the things I have heard about this boy made me more and more curious as to whom this character was, and what made him this way. Perhaps this was one of the reasons I fled to New York and, more specifically, to Brooklyn. Of course there were other underlying reasons as to why I fled, but that's a story for much later. For now, I'd like to tell you all about how I met Spot Conlon and truly how irritating I found him to be. How arrogant. How pig-headed and stubborn and rude.

And yet I could not deny, even now, that I was finding myself falling into a trap I should have seen coming from miles away. I was falling, and I wasn't sure I wanted to stop myself from doing so. When I realized where I was it was too late to go back; too late to _want_ to go back.

When I was 16 I fell, wholly and truly, in love with the one and only King of Brooklyn.

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1901

"Watch where you're going, ya gimp!" A man shouted towards me as he passed with a scowl upon his taut face. He only spared me one pinched glare before he was off to wherever he was headed, leaving me behind amongst a crowd of people heading places just like himself. I sighed and moved closer to the brick building; perhaps if I was closer to the buildings, people would find it easier to get passed me, therefore sparing me their glares and nasty words.

I walked with a limp; it was clear to anyone who had eyes that I favored my left leg, that somehow my right leg was injured. No one seemed to care, though, passing by me without so much as an offer of help. I try not to feel slighted, but I find it rather difficult; it's not my fault I busted my knee on my travel.

I look around and know, immediately, that I have made it to Manhattan. How often have I seen it photographs on my local newspaper? When Charlie on the corner tried to coax me into buying into his false headlines? Many times. I smile bitterly at the memory, but shake it off. I've only been gone for a week, all of them are still fresh in my mind, and I in theirs. However, I still find my heart pulling tight at the thought of them.

Another feeling is found in the deep pit of my gut; pride. I'm feeling very proud of myself, and I find it justifiable as to why; I did manage to travel from Boston to New York in a little over a week without any previous knowledge of the route. I'd say that's a success, if any. Despite that fact that I'm here, in New York, I still feel as though I'm miles and miles away from where I'm needed to be. Well, not _needed_. They don't even know I exist in Brooklyn, but _I_ need to be there, and for me that's all that matters.

I don't know where to go from here. Do I follow the crowd? Will they lead me to where I need to be? In which direction is the Brooklyn Bridge? I don't stop anyone to ask them, as they'd most likely snap at me. I roll eyes; I'm sure it can't be much harder to navigate than Boston. I hold my head high, look over my shoulder, and enter the wave of people.

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I'm lost. I'm lost and angry and absolutely exhausted. How long has it been? Far too long, that's for sure. The sun is high in the sky, but it is afternoon. I find myself sitting on a bench at a street side with my bad leg stretched out straight and my head lulled back. Today had been a complete failure so far. I was able to find a bridge._A_bridge, mind you, not _the_ bridge. Oh, but I'd already forgotten which bridge I'd crossed to get into Manhattan, so I trekked it. It wasn't the Brooklyn Bridge. I ran a hand over my face and groaned so loudly that a woman pulled her child as far away from me as she could. I went back to Manhattan.

I should have known beforehand what to look for; what the bridge _looked like_. If I had been told back then that it was something special, I would have at least had a clue.

So now, sitting by myself, I shut my eyes and whimper as my knee throbs dully and the sun bakes me through my dress. My mind runs through my day like clockwork and also through my week. I find myself missing the Boston boys and the nice people there. I sighed heavily. I'm so consumed in myself that I don't notice that someone occupied the seat next to me. That some _boy_ occupied the seat next to me. That_ the_ boy occupied the seat next to me. If only I'd been prepared for that.

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**So what do you all think of this story line so far? Leave a review if you want me to continue, and I'll be happy to do so! Tell me what you all think!**


	2. Chapter 2

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"Ey, are you alright?" A voice asked from beside me, causing me to jump in my seat. I looked over at the source of the voice and was momentarily blinded by the sun. I squinted, trying to make out the shapes and contours of his face.

Once my eyes finally adjusted to the blinding light, I was able to see him clearly. Everything about this boy read 'Newsie' from his hair, to his clothes, to his demeanor. I was struck by his appearance; I had to think that this was the most attractive boy I'd ever seen in my entire life. He wore a brown newsboy cap on his head, with dirty blond hair peeking out from beneath it, tumbling down onto his slightly tanned forehead, grazing his brow. His face was indescribably appealing, in a way that would make most people swoon, yet I had to stop myself from doing just that. He was lean and tall and seemed to have no flaws. His lips were pulled tightly into a smirk that one may call condescending, but to me it was teasing.

And then there were his eyes; oh yes, his eyes. Even in this light, I was able to see them clearly. They were blue, but more than that; they were stones, they were ice. They were cold and hard and to my own eyes they seemed to be shielding something deeper.

I must have been staring at him for a long moment, because he cleared his throat and spoke up, "Ya like what ya see, eh?" The boy asked with a thick accent. Weird, though, out of all the accents I heard in Manhattan, this was somehow different.

I quickly looked away, turning my gaze to my knees. "Yes, yes," I say, but quickly jut up to look at him with my wide, brown eyes. "I meant yes to your first question, of course."

He smirked tightly. "Of course," he said with an undertone of a chuckle to his voice. I blushed and used my light blonde hair as a shield. "So," he began, leaning back against the bench and looking out to the passing crowd, "what's a lovely goil like yaself doin' out heah, lookin' so… worn?" He asked, moving his eyes toward me momentarily before flickering back to the crowd.

I sighed and rubbed my fingers deep in my temples. "I've been walking around this God forsaken city all day, and I can't seem to find my destination, no matter how hard I try!" I throw my hands in the air and lean back next to the mystery boy.

He snapped his eyes toward mine. "Don't talk about my city like dat, ya heah?" His voice was low and had the heavy sense of warning and power in it. I shuttered, slightly scared by him, but he was back to his cool demeanor almost immediately. "So, what's got ya so frustrated, eh? Care to share?"

I shook my head and bit my lip, wondering if I should trust this boy; though I just met him, and know absolutely nothing about him, not even his name, I feel as though he wouldn't hurt me. I shifted my body slightly towards him and placed my hands on my knees. "I've been traveling for a long time," I say.

"Haven't we all," the boy said, and I frowned. That was a bit rude. I brushed it off and continued.

"I came from Boston," I told him with my eyes narrowed, obvious and clear annoyance in my tone and on my face. "It took me a little over a week to get here and now that I'm finally here, I have no idea where to go. Actually, I wasn't planning on ending up in Manhattan," I say and note that the boys wandering interest has been caught. "That's beside the point, however. You look like a newsie, am I correct?" I ask, briefly looking him up and down. He had to be.

The boy smirked and straightened his posture. "Why yes I am," he said, hooking his thumbs underneath his pale red suspenders. "So Boston, eh? Know any boys from there?" He asked, his smirk still heavily imposing on his face.

I nod. "Yes, quite a few, but once again, it's beside the point. If you are who you say you are, a newsie, I could use your help," I said, looking over my shoulder, then back to the boy.

His face, once cocky and proud now shone with skepticism. "Be very careful with what you'se about ta ask," he said in that warning, dangerous tone again.

I nod again. "It's nothing bad, I promise," and I mean it. "I'm looking for a boy, I'm sure you know him. The boys all the way over in Boston know about him too," I ramble a bit, moving my hands as I speak. "He's from Brooklyn. I need your help getting me there, because quite frankly I am as lost as a blind person in Central Park," I say, my voice pleading as I look at him.

The danger, now wiped clear from his face, is replaced by that cocky smirk. "Brooklyn, yeah? What's da boy's name? I'm a Brooklyn newsie meself, so I probably know 'im," there is an underlying taunting in his tone that makes me feel hot inside, like he's mocking me.

"Okay, do you really want to help or not? Because I don't want to be wasting my time," I say as I stand up and groan in pain as my knee cries in protest. "Ah," I say, grabbing my knee.

The boy is immediately at my side, alert clear in his stony eyes. "What? Are ya hurt?" He asked, crouching down slightly to look into my eyes. His eyes flicker down to my knee then back up to me.

I nod and grit my teeth. "I'm fine though," I say, releasing my knee and standing up straight. The pain is even worse from sitting down for so long. "I hurt it on my way here," I explain, "I've been walking on it all day." The pain throbs and I grit my teeth.

The boy sighs and grabs my arm, placing it over his shoulder. He then puts his arm around my waist. I am alert now; quickly, I whip my head towards him, my blonde hair flying in my face. "What are you doing?" I ask in haste, my amber eyes wide open and my body stiff.

The boy rolls his eyes. "I'm takin' you'se ta Brooklyn. I'll even help ya find who you'se is looking for. I can't let ya walk around in dis city wid dat injury," he said.

I allowed him to help me, mainly because my pain was blinding my judgment. "Thank you," I say quietly, my face pinched in pain. "It hasn't hurt this badly since I first got hurt," I explain. "Sorry."

I felt the boy shrug from beneath my arm. "Whateva," he said.

I was silent for a few blocks before he finally spoke again. "Before I take ya to Brooklyn," he began, still walking at a slow pace. "I need ta know ya name," he said, still looking straight ahead. "I can't bring ya back if I don' have a name for ya."

I nod, understanding. The pain is somewhat duller and I'm able to speak without gritting my teeth. "Juniper Wilds," I tell him.

I feel him laugh a low chuckle. "No, fa real," he said as he looking over to me briefly.

I frown and sigh. "It is real. That's my real name," I tell him in frustration. I always have to deal with this type of stuff; I don't know what my parents were thinking, giving me such a ridiculous name.

He laughed again, this time much more openly. "Alright, alright, _Juniper_, I'll take ya to Spot and see what he's got to say," he says, his voice sounding as though he's mocking me. As though what he was saying was an inside joke of sorts.

I look over at him. "I never told you the name of the person I was looking for," I say, not really accusingly, but more shockingly than anything.

"I know, I know," he says with a smirk, "I just assumed."

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	3. Chapter 3

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"Oh, um… this is your house?" I asked as we stopped in front of an old brick building. The shudders on the windows were hanging loosely by nails and the windows looked worse for their wear. Honestly, it did not seem like a place that the infamous Spot Conlon would live. I was getting nervous, wondering whether or not this boy truly was a newsie. Next to the green washed door, there was and old sign, but the letters had either been ripped off or had fallen off after years of use.

The boy scoffed and removed his arm from around my waist; I was both relieved and disappointed at this action, but did not allowed my emotions to show. He took a step back from me and sat on the brick porch outside the building. His icy eyes turned to me and they seemed to hold offense in them. I gulped. "What? Da little goil dat travelled all da way from Boston is now being picky, dat it?" He asked as he pulled a cigarette and matchbook from his pocket.

I shook my head quickly, suddenly feeling nervous. I hadn't meant to offend the boy, but sometimes I suffer from severe word vomit; it's always been an issue with me. Always. "No, no," I assure him with my hands clutching my elbows as I cross my arms. "It's just… the lodging houses in Boston are much… well, they're very different, I suppose," I say as my eyes flickered the surrounding area. The smell of salt and human life absorbed all my senses as I stand nervously.

He shrugged as he lit his cigarette and took a deep puff, leaning back on his elbows. "You spend alotta time at newsboy's lodging houses, eh?" He asked with a voice that made it seem as though he were asking more.

I quickly repudiated this thought immediately. "No! Well, not in the way that you're obviously implying," I sniffed as I shook my head. "My brother, he was a newsie, you see," I say, but the boy catches the way my eyes shift and I know he can see through my lie.

His lips pull into a tight smirk. "Your brother, huh? I gotcha, y'know? Sometimes I get my goil mixed up wid my sista," he said with a chuckle as he took another puff.

I look at him quickly. "You have a girlfriend?" I ask a bit too hastily and I chastise myself for seeming too eager. I was just curious, after all, nothing else to it.

But the boy, oh the boy got a kick out of that. His smirk widened and he looked over at me with heavily lidded eyes and a goofy expression. I was left blushing, not from flattery, but from embarrassment. "Why, you'se interested?" He asked. Before I could even interject, he continued, "Nah, I don't gots a goil. I nevah do. I just sorta… like to get a taste of everything, y'know? One goil is nevah enough," he said with a snigger as he shook his head. He took another puff and blew it in my direction.

I rolled my eyes, having enough of this boy's cockiness and rude attitude. "I'm sorry to push you," I said in a voice that heavily implied I was not sorry, "but I came here to meet with Spot Conlon, not chat idly with some random boy off the street that I don't even know is a real newsie."

The boy laughs. "You wanna talk ta Spot, eh?" He asks, standing up from his position on the porch. I tense, feeling somewhat threatened. I nod to answer his inquiry. "The King of Brooklyn? The greatest newsie to evah sell papes?" He continues, cockiness strong in his tone. I nod, but begin to feel awkward; he must really admire his leader… or something more. Not my place to judge, however.

"Yes and it's rather important, so if we could get a move on," I say as I tap my boot covered foot against the pavement. I'm becoming very impatient with him and it's clear.

"Well, wish granted," he says as he once again takes his place on the porch.

Confusion hits me like a wave. Are we going to sit here and wait for Spot? Is this boy even really a newsie? Does he even know Spot? _Is he….no…_ "Wait- what's this?" I ask with wide eyes.

He chuckles and drops his cigarette to the floor, putting it out beneath his boot. "You'se have been havin' a conversation wid him da whole time, doll face," he told me with a smirk and a rather flirtatious wink.

I look at him at blush feeling somewhat ashamed. I was so rude, too. "_You're_ Spot Conlon?" I ask him, taking a small step back as the surprise of this news hits me like a tidal wave.

"Da one and only." He stands and holds his arms out to showcase himself, his smirk is devious but it doesn't seem to reach his dead eyes; it makes me feel a bit sad. He lowers his arms and crosses them as he takes a step closer to me. From here I can make out small, sparse freckles that are spattered on his face and a key hanging from thin rope around his neck. I look up to his eyes and wait for him to continue. "You wanted me, heah I am. Talk. I'm a busy man and ain't got all day, so speak," he orders in a commanding tone. I feel obliged to obey him.

"I – well you see… oh my," I stumble on my words and bite my lip as nerves roll over me in waves. I curse myself and shake my head, trying to calm myself. I take a deep breath and go to speak just as I am cut off.

"Look, I ain't a very patient guy…uh, Juniper… yeah, Juniper, so if you'se could just," he moves his hands in a gyrating motion as if gesturing me to move faster, "get a move on."

I fume at this and think about retorting back scathingly, but stop myself. Not the best time to be cheeky at all. I shut my eyes and exhale as I nod. "I'm sorry, I'm just a bit nervous."

He smirks deviously. "I tend ta do dat to da ladies. Completely understandable. Continue."

I roll my eyes at the comment, but ignore it. "I… I need a job. Here, in New York, and I heard you were the best and I-"

Once again, I'm cut off. Spot holds up a hand to stop me. "Nu-uh, no way. Unless you'se is asking ta clean da house or wash our clothes, den you'se is lookin' for work in all da wrong places, doll face. Ain't no such thing goil newsies in all of New York and unless you'se is um... _packing_," his eyes shift downward and I gasp, "that rule applies to you," he says shaking his head and crossing his arms. "I don' know how it is in your little 'Boston' but ovah heah we ain't a little charity," he says in a tone of finality that makes my heart shatter.

My face drops and my shoulders slump. "But I can sell! Look, I'm smart, I need a job. I need one here. I can't go anywhere else, and being a newsie is all I have! It's all I know, you see? Please, you have to help me," I beg him with my hands clutched together.

He examines me and for a second, I'm hopeful. His eyes shoot up back to mine, blue meeting brown. He shakes his head. "I don' know you, I don' have ta help. You know how many people I turn away? More den I can remembah. And trust me when I say dat I won' remembah you."

He turns on his heel and begins to ascend the steps. Without thinking I reach out and grab his forearm. He freezes and glances at me over his shoulder, a dangerous look upon his face that makes me gulp and release him immediately. He doesn't move or speak, and I expect that this means he's willing to listen to me. I inhaled deeply. "I came here, all the way from Boston just for this. I have no home here, no life or friends. No money or food. I'll die. I'm injured, Spot. Please. I normally don't beg, but you're making this very difficult for me not to/ You have to help me," I say as I look at him from beneath my lashes.

After a long, silent moment shared between us, he turns away from me and walks the rest of the steps to the door. As he opens it he looks back at me with those steel eyes and says, "You ain't my problem," and then he's gone behind the green door, leaving me to bake in the summer sun. I come to think I have made a huge mistake.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Hey! Sorry for the small wait, but my laptop broke and is currently getting fixed up! Using my netbook for the time being, which does not have word so I am using the Doc Manager. Please favorite, follow and most of all REVIEW! Enjoy!**

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I turned away from the building, now facing the busy streets and bustle of Brooklyn all alone. How could he just say no? After all, he knows where I came from, he knows that I'm hurt and poor and alone. I've heard any stories about this boy; of his arrogance, his demeanor and his brilliance. I assume I've only chosen to believe what I wanted about him. I scoffed at myself as I sat down on the lodging house porch, resting my face in my hands. What reason would he have to bring me into his home? Into his pseudo-family? I know that if some random newsie from New York came to Boston and begged to live in his lodging house, Domino would not let that happen right away.

Suddenly, my heart burned and pulled tight at the thought of home... of Boston. Would they all understand why I left? Are the boys worried about me? Are they looking? I don't know whether or not these thoughts make me happy. I want them all to miss me as much as I miss them, but I also want them to move on in their lives. All that I hope for is that my trip will not turn out to have been a huge mistake.

The sun that had once been shining down on my was suddenly blocked and I was forced to look up at the person blocking it. He was about 5'8, two inches taller than myself, and was so clearly a newsie. He wore a grey cap over his dark hair and his skin was tanned ever so slightly to make him somewhat olive colored. He, much like Spot Conlon,w as a striking boy.

The boy cleared his throat and crossed his muscled arms over his chest as he scrutinized me carefully. "And what do we have here?" He asked. I was shocked upon hearing his voice; it was deep and did not have that trademark Brooklyn accent. In fact, it sounded as though there was a hint of an English accent in it. It was very light, but noticeable.

I gulped and looked over my shoulder as my hands clenched together in my lap. An idea suddenly over comes me, and though it shames me to act in such a salacious way, I do so out of necessity. "I'm here to see Spot Conlon," I say in a low, sensual tone as I stand up and smirk tightly. I am hoping my eyes are glaze over and that I look sexy instead of embarrassing myself; I've never acted so ridiculously before. I puff my chest out for the effect.

The boy takes a small step back and analyzes me with a smirk similar to Spot's in that it was cocky, but different in that it made my stomach flip unpleasantly. I persevered with my act anyway, needing to talk some sense into Spot Conlon, needing to make him see reason.

The boy looked up to me with his hazel eyes and shook his head. "Of course you are, I should have known by the look of you," he said in a way that made me want to hit him. I didn't look any different than any other girl on the street, but perhaps that is what he meant. I keep my mouth shut as he continues to scrutinize my person. "And, if I may ask, what is your name, hm?" He took a step closer to me, to which I matched with a small step back. Luckily, he did not persist.

I cleared my throat and looked down to my feet before looking up with a smirk. "Imogene, if you must know," I say sweetly, clasping my hands behind my back.

He holds his dirt caked hand out to me and smiles. I notice of his front teeth are missing. "Flyer," he says in a somewhat sweet somewhat savory tone of voice. I reluctantly take his hand and shake it with two quick pumps and a false, sickly sweet smile plastered upon my face. "I'll take you right up to Spot, how's that sound to you?"

I nodded. "I was waiting for him to get back. He did tell me never to knock on the door, so I just waited," I said, hoping my statement was plausible at least.

The boy laughed as he led me up the steps and pulled open the green washed door. "Sounds like Spot to me. Controlling and a bit," he looked around before lowering his voice, "and a bit of a nutter if you were to ask me."

I laughed with him, but my face showed no mirth. I was nervous and could not be bothered to hide it now. I was sure Spot would be able to know I was coming because my heart was beating so hard in my chest that I would not be surprised if it burst right out onto the floor. "Oh, I know Spot," I lied.

As we began heading up the narrow and steep white washed staircase, I examined Flyer's back to calm myself. Maybe I was overreacting. Yes, I hope that is the case.

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"Ey, Spot," Flyer called through a closed door, "Someone is here to see you. She isn't too bad looking either."

On our way to this door at the end of the hall, we passed two bunk rooms and a large communal bathroom. I had to assume that Spot had his own private room; it was only logical.

The door creaked open and at first Spot only saw Flyer, but soon his eyes shifted over to me. Momentarily, I saw that annoyance and irritation flare in his icy eyes. However, he was able to put on a smirk before Flyer noticed his displeasure to see me. "Eh, I'se have been waiting for you! Get in heah, we gotta make dis quick, I ain't got all day," he said as he opened the door wider and motioned for me to enter. He looked over to Flyer and stiffened his stance. "I want you'se ta go out and get something ta eat," Spot said with a wink as he reached into a little pouch tied to his hip, "On me." He tossed a few coins at Flyer and waved him on his way. Flyer was out of the house faster than Spot was able to the shut his bedroom door and look at me.

In the time that I was in his room, I noticed a bunk bed in the far corner, a dresser against the wall opposite the one window and a long, full length mirror in the corner. The room was small, but big enough for two or three people to live in it comfortably. The floor was wood and the walls were painted white, however the paint was chipping in various places. It was somewhat quaint.

"Dontcha get the term 'no means no'? When I send someone on their way, dey leave and nevah come back," eh said as he crossed his arms and took a large step towards me. Once again, I took a step away from him. "So you'se can imagine my... surprise when you didn' leave when ya had da chance."

I shook my head and bit my lower lip. "Listen, Spot Conlon," I began softly, "I know you don't want to bring me in, I understand. You don't know me, you don't know what I can do or who I am. I can see why you're so wary of letting me in, but I promise you that you will not regret bringing me into Brooklyn."

He let out a laugh and shook his head. "Look, it don' have nothin' ta do wid me not knowing ya, okay?" He said as he took another step closer to me. This time, however, I stood my ground.

I crossed my arms over my chest indignantly and looked up to him. "Oh yeah? What does it have to do with then? Is it because I am a girl?"

"Yes."

"And you think less of me because of it," I spat heatedly as I clenched my fists and dropped my arms to my side. "Look - I bet I can sell papes out there better than half of your 'men' can, okay? If you'd only just give me a chance!"

Spot scowled at me and I shut my mouth. When he wanted to look scary, he was absolutely terrifying. "Don't evah say I think less of people because they're goils, alright? I ain't like dat, and don' make stupid assumptions about me. Just as much as I don' know you, you don' know me," he growled out through clenched teeth as he leaned forward into my face.

I shook my head to wake myself up a bit. I stared back into his eyes deeply and narrowed them. "If it's not because you think less of girls, then why don't you have any girl newsies in New York?" I pushed.

Spot sighed and stood up straight, his face now a safe distance away from my own and I was able to breath freely again. "It's too dangerous ta have goils be newsies in New York. Howevah dangerous it may be in _Boston_ it's about 100 times more dangerous heah. Not only are da customers a threat, but so are da boys you'd be workin' wid, alright? Dat's why," he explained as he rubbed his fingers deeply into his temples. "And dat's why you ain't my problem. You're your own problem heah."

I nod and bite my lip again, crossing my arms defensively. He was right. I'm not his problem at all; he has no reason to protect me, yet he is by not letting me be a newsie. I can't be a newsie in New York because of my gender and I suddenly have an idea. "What if I'm not a girl?" I say, looking at Spot with wide eyes.

I watch him give me a strange look and he shakes his head. "Look, I jus' met you, and dat is _**definitely**_ not my problem," he said as he took a small step back and pulled his cap off his head.

I exhale in annoyance and roll my eyes. "No... I mean, what if no one else knows that I am a girl. It could be between you and me," I said as I gestured between the two of us.

"Yea? And you got boy clothes ta wear?" He questioned and noted the guilt in my eyes. "You jus' assumed I would lend ya some, eh? Well let me tell ya now dat assuming is a very dangerous thing ta do in dis life, alright? Nevah assume."

I deflate and my shoulders sag. "So you're not going to help me, is that it?" I ask in a dead panned, disheartened tone.

Spot sighs heavily and leans against his bed post. "I'll help ya," he said quietly.

"Hm?" I ask, not knowing if I had heard him correctly, but my eyes light up all the same.

Spot pushed off the bed post and looked me in the eyes. "Since you'se seem so desperate, I'se'll help ya," he said. His face became very stern and he took three long strides and stood before me. I gulped. "But once you'se is on your feet, don't expect any help from me, alright? You sell ya own papes, buy ya own food and you don' get attached ta me, yeah?"

I nod. "Trust me when I say I will not get attached to you," I say with a terse nod.

Spot smiled reluctantly and took a few steps back, pulling a hat off his bedpost and handing it out to me. "Juniper Wilds, meet June."

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	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for the reviews and favorites! I am working very hard on this story, so it would mean a lot to get some more feedback from you lovely people. With this story I am attempting to bring the Newsie fandom back to strength. If this story gets more popular, perhaps it would help. All reviews are welcomed and encouraged! Thank you!**

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I look down at the ratty old hat and back up to Spot with a small grimace on my face. He notices my change in stature and pulls his brows together. "What? What's da problem now?" He asked with clear annoyance in his question; I don't blame him, in fact I'd be annoyed with me too.

I sigh and spin the cap in my hands. "It's just…June is such a, well, _girly _name. Wouldn't it be kind of, I don't know, obvious?" I ponder aloud, making sure to look straight up into Spot's eyes.

He shrugged and leaned his bodily relaxingly against the bedpost. "It ain't too goily if ya ask me," he said casually with his eyes glancing down, catching me nervously spinning the hat in my hands. I stop abruptly. His eyes were back on mine, and mine on his. "I got boys wid names like 'Sunshine' and 'Candy' so June don' seem goily at all, when ya think about it."

I nod slowly and then shoot a glance at myself in the mirror. "You have other clothes for me to wear?"

"Of course I do," he said smugly. "I wouldn't have offered ta help if I didn'." He paused and then turned his back towards me, pulling open a drawer in his dresser. He stopped for a moment. "Well, I didn' really _offah_ to help as much I submitted to," he said with a shake of his head and a light laugh. He turned to look at me as I pursed my lips. His eyes trailed up and down my body and I had to stop myself from shivering. Once again, he turned his back and began digging through what little clothes he did own. "Alright, so you'se is gonna need something small, but not too small. We'se is gonna try an' pass you off as a twelve year old boy from Boston, yeah?" He quickly tossed a shirt and a pair of pants to me, in which I was barely able to catch them

"But I look much older than twelve," I say indigently, "and I'm far too tall to pass as such."

Spot stood up straight and looked down at me. He must be at least 6 feet tall. He was once again appraising me and my breath hitched unconsciously. "Ya gotta be around 5'6", no?" He asked, his eyes flickering from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. He was right on the mark.

I nodded. "Yes, but how many twelve year old boys do you see that are as tall as I am? Many of them haven't even passed 5 feet yet."

Spot sighed and gestured to the clothes. "Jus' get changed, will ya?" He asked in a mildly exasperated tone. "You'se is thin and gangly, and if ya hide your hair and jut your chin out a bit, you can pass by jus' fine."

I looked down at the old, faded blue checkered shirt in my hands, and then I looked at the brown, patched pants. My eyes found Spot's and narrowed. "Well? Get out, then."

Spot laughed and pulled a cigarette from his pocket and placed it in his mouth. He didn't seem to be lighting it, so I didn't pay much attention to the action. "I ain't leaving. Dis is my room. You'se will have ta deal wid it."

My jaw drops at his nonchalance and overall rude behavior. "Well, I'm not changing in front of you!" I shout, still in shock at what he was proposing.

Spot sighed heavily, the cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of his lip. He turned on his heel and faced the door. "Fine, then you'll have ta change behind me," he said stubbornly. I could feel him rolling his eyes, and I could only assume that he could feel the heat of my embarrassment coming towards him waves. I stood there, my hands clenched tightly around the articles of clothes as I stared, wide eyed, at his back.

A few moments later, he huffed and turned to face me. With a big eye roll, he pulled the unlit cigarette from his mouth and threw his arms out. "Fine! I'se'll get out! Yeesh! It really ain't a big deal, doll face, but if ya gonna turn it into one I'se'll jus' get out," he said as he walked towards the door. He turned back to look at me with narrowed eyes. "But now dat you'se is by yaself, I'm only givin' ya five minutes ta get changed before I come bargin' in, all decency aside!"

He shut the door with a click as he left, and I was finally able to let a heavy breath escape my lips.

* * *

I was lacing up my left boot about ten minutes later when Spot finally did come back in the room. I was more than grateful that he didn't come in when he had promised, for I was still working off my petticoat at that point. Spot looked at me from the doorway before taking a large stride in and shutting the door behind him. His hands were on his hips and he had a stern face up his taut features.

I stood up as soon as I was done with my boot and plucked the tattered hat from the bedpost. My light hair was in a ponytail, ending mid back. I tucked it under the hat and held my arms out for show. "So?" I inquire, looking at Spot nervously. "Will it do?"

He moved on hand from his hip to his chin and grunted. "We'se is gonna need ta tape those puppies down when I introduce ya to da boys, but everything else seems fine ta me," he said, gesturing to my small, but clearly visible breasts. I bite my lip and nod having noticed the same thing.

"I figured as much," I agree with him, crossing my arms unconsciously over my breasts. I had been hoping that they wouldn't be too noticeable, but if Spot had noticed, everyone else certainly will. "How's the rest?" I say as I slowly spin, giving him a 360 view of myself.

Spot grunted again and took a step towards me. I flinched involuntarily as his hand reached for my face and he paused, giving me an odd look. "I wasn' gonna hit ya," he said with furrowed brows. I nod and allow him to pull the hat from my head. "Your hair is too long, I'm sad ta say," he said with a reprimanding 'tsk' and I knew what was to come. "We'se is gonna have ta fix dat. I can cut it to ya shoulders, but dat's da longest I'se can let it be," he told me. "Other den dat, I'd said everything is lookin' pretty good, dontcha think?"

He grabs me tightly by the shoulders and turns me towards the full length mirror. "Look at yaself." He ordered, and I did so without any questions. "Jut ya chin out and lower ya brow a bit." I did as he said. He sighed and released me, taking his place by the door. "Ta me, you'se still look like a goil. But maybe that's jus' because I knew ya before. I don' know. You can pass as a boy as long as ya play da part well. You'se is gonna be a quiet kid, alright? Don' be startin' trouble wid da others 'less ya wanna get da boot, yeah? I gotta look aftah my boys, ya know?" His mouth was moving faster than I could understand, but I nodded, getting the gist of what he was telling me.

"I understand," I say truthfully. I really did not want trouble here. I left my home because of trouble.

His lips pulled into a tight smirk. "Good," he said as he rolled his shoulders. The key around his neck shifted slightly, but I chose not to call attention to it. "Well, I'll be back in a few minutes. We'll cut dat… _mane_ of yours and I'll show you where you'll be stayin', how's sound?"

My head snaps to his and my eyes widen. "Where I'll be staying?" I repeat with question. My eyes shift to the bunk bed and then back to Spot's steel eyes. "Won't I be staying in here, with you?"

Spot threw back his head and laughed heartily and I shivered in cool embarrassment. Why was he laughing so cruelly? "Sorry, doll face," he said in a tone that made it clear he was not sorry at all, "but I don' think dat's how it works. It'd be kinda suspicious if I had the new twelve year old boy sharing a room wid me, not ta mention just creepy. Sorry, toots, but you'se is staying in da bunkroom, whether you like it or not," he informed me in a sadistic tone with a smirk heavily imprinted on all the features of his face. "Unless you'se wanna back out now, no strings attached."

I scowled and looked towards the mirror with a mean, taut face, assuring myself I could do what needs to be done. With a heavy exhale, I turned to Spot with a smile on my face. It was too sweet to be real, and he must have known that. "No, in fact I'm relieved," I say in a sickening tone of voice. "I'd have to be alone with you for far too long than I could handle. Thank you for thinking of me." I reached back and grabbed my ponytail in my right hand and examined it. When I looked up, Spot was still there, staring at me with a blank expression. I wanted to laugh cruelly, but resisted. "Well? Go on. We want to get cutting this _mane_ down to a reasonable length before the boys get back, don't we?"

Spot huffed and stared at me with nasty, narrowed eyes leaving me feeling frozen as he turned and left the room with the slam of his door. The resounding noise made me jump and I was left to wonder whether he or I had won that battle of wits.

* * *

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